


To Dream of Wings

by SaharraShadow



Category: Star Trek XI
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-08
Updated: 2013-02-08
Packaged: 2017-11-28 14:37:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/675505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaharraShadow/pseuds/SaharraShadow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If there's one thing in his life that Jim Kirk had never dreamed of, it was having wings. Too bad. He might have been a little better prepared when they showed up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to [](http://mijan.livejournal.com/profile)[**mijan**](http://mijan.livejournal.com/), [](http://triskellion.livejournal.com/profile)[**triskellion**](http://triskellion.livejournal.com/), [](http://gone-ashore.livejournal.com/profile)[**gone_ashore**](http://gone-ashore.livejournal.com/), and [](http://whiteraven1606.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://whiteraven1606.livejournal.com/)**whiteraven1606** for the beta work, suggestions, and pointing out when I created really big plot holes. Thank you to the moderators at au_bigbang for their patience. They really have tons of it. Thanks to chosenfire28 for the beautiful poster. It was so sweet of her to do it. :D Also, please note that any remaining mistakes are solely of my own making. My betas are exceptionally good at what they do. I just tend to re-write frequently and create new mistakes…. Also, midterms are evil.

Disclaimer: Except for any original characters they're not mine, but they did join me for a play date. All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. This is for fun. Please treat it as such. NO COPYRIGHT INFRINGEMENT INTENDED.

I originally posted this a few years ago.

The Art:

[Link to the Art](http://chosenfire28.livejournal.com/145865.html)

 

  
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Wind. A salt wind curling through his hair and tugging at his clothes. He fell, the breeze enfolding him, whistling by as he angled downwards. Almost there. Just a moment more. The high-pitched scream of the air echoed in his ears as he caught sight of the white crest of a wave. He arched, opening and breaking the dive, turning from the cliffs with a snap--

James T. Kirk jerked awake as a sharp burning pain moved through his back, across his shoulder blades, and into his neck. "Dammit!" he hissed out, biting back a moan as he attempted to sit up. Bones would kill him if he'd messed up the work he'd had to do on his back thanks to the last planet of sneaky natives that had taken a dislike to him. He grimaced. He'd get The Lecture about good little Captains "who should know when to stay in their fucking beds and rest like their god-damn body told them to instead of gallivanting off into the night..." and on and on it'd go. Then Spock would look at him with that one eyebrow slowly rising up and up, because of course he'd know. Bones would to tell him about the Captain's latest attempt to undue his latest bit of patch-up wor--healing, he corrected automatically.

He snorted at the pair of them that lived in his head like mini-consciences as he eased himself back down onto the bed and stared up at the smooth walls that formed the ceiling. The kicker was he hadn't done anything this time. He'd just been sleeping. And dreaming. Flying. He'd been flying, dancing really, with the wind. He shivered at the remembered caress of its cool fingers in his hair and the sting of it in his eyes. It'd been real, the whistle of the air as he cut through it and angled away from the cliffs lining the seaside. But shit, this was a starship, and they didn't have playful sea breezes and he sure as hell didn't have wings to fly on. He'd never even seen sea cliffs, not like these, and here he was dreaming of them.

He shrugged and immediately regretted it as the muscles across his back seized and refused to release. He sucked in a deep breath and forced it back out slowly, and then did it again and again. It didn't help. The cramp, or whatever it was, refused to release. He squeezed his eyes shut, focusing on breathing. Looked like he wasn't going to be able to avoid calling Bones after all.

Gritting his teeth, Jim dug under his pillow for his communicator. The deep tearing pain spread as his movement triggered the spread of the cramp and he gasped, breathing raggedly. Whatever he'd done, he was ready for it to end. He'd even take one of Bones' hypos without complaint.

Flicking the communicator on, he tapped in his "Dammit, Jim! Call me when you're in trouble" code with a trembling hand. With each twitch of his fingers the fire spread, moving through his shoulder and down his arm. He bit back a groan, gasping out a curse instead. "Fucking hell."

The communicator tumbled from his fingers. He felt something wet trickling down his back as the room faded, taking the fiery pain with it. Didn't matter. Bones would come.

****

The shriek of the alarm he'd tagged to Jim's personal emergency code echoed in the room. Leonard stared, not quite believing it was _that_ code instead of the alert he'd tied to Jim's vital signs and set to go off automatically before jerking up from his seat, scattering the PADDs he'd been perusing across his desk as he grabbed for the communicator. The screeching of the alert monitor he had set up chased him out the door. He'd discharged Jim barely six hours ago. The man was resting in his quarters. What in hell could he have done that would have him giving in and actually using that damned code? He was on rest and light duties (paperwork) until further notice.

"Jim?"

Silence. Coming around his desk, he pulled out his emergency med kit and tried again to raise his friend over the comm. "God dammit, Jim! Say something or I'm declaring alcohol off limits for a month! You hear me?" Straining, Leonard listened to the silence only to run for the door as a pained groan drifted over the comm.

"Chapel!" he bellowed. "The Captain has used his private medical code and I can't raise him. Have a transport team on standby just in case." Darting out the door, he threw back one last order, "And alert Commander Spock. He'll want to know."

Ducking into the nearest turbolift, he keyed it shut in a hapless Ensign's face without a by your leave and called for Deck 5.

Rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet, he grimaced, wondering what had gone wrong this time. According to his last set of labs, he had managed to flush the bulk of the poison from Jim's systems, so it shouldn't have caused a problem, least of all one like this. Unless Jim was having one of his allergic reactions to something Leonard hadn't included in his calculations. Maybe the overt poison had hidden a subtle sleeper agent?

Teeth grinding together, he huffed a relieved sigh as the doors swished open. Zipping through them and into the main hall, he pounded down the corridor to Jim's quarters and issued his medical override to the voice recognition system.

He strode into the room, stepping over and around the shoes scattered over the floor until he reached Jim's side. His friend and Captain lay belly down, his head twisted to the side and one hand stretched toward a communicator that lay just centimeters from his fingertips. Dropping his bag, Leonard drew out his tricorder with one hand, while the other smoothed the pain lines etched onto Jim's forehead. They hadn't been there earlier when he'd released him from Sickbay. His eyes narrowed and Leonard barked out a curse to the empty room and commed Chapel, telling her to send up the transport team. They needed it after all. The heat he could feel through his hand hadn't been there either.

Bringing the tricorder up, he took his readings. Internal bleeding to match the weeping lines on his back and a fever of 39 degrees. All the symptoms of an infection--without the infection. Hell. The kid couldn't take the easy way out if his life depended on it.

The poison, by all accounts, had been removed from his system. Shaking his head, he smoothed back the sweat-soaked hair. "Dammit, Jim. What the hell have you gotten mixed up in this time?"

The slim form remained stubbornly silent. Turning back to his bag, he pulled out a number of bandages. They'd do as a temporary measure until he got him into Sickbay. With deft movements, he removed the torn stitches. It was old school, but the corrosive nature of the poison had caused too much tissue loss for a liquid stitch to hold up against the additional stress of even the smallest movements. The stitches removed, he bandaged the thin wounds, using pressure to slow the already sluggish bleeding. The overt lack of a visual sign of infection reassured him on the one hand, but at the same time Leonard found it unsettling, as he had no clue as to what was causing Jim's fever.

Keeping one hand over the bandaged wounds, he watched the rise and fall of Jim's back as he breathed shallowly. As long as the kid was managing that, then he had a chance to do his job. As long as he kept breathing, they'd keep fighting.

He smiled, though there was an underlying brittleness to it. Sometimes it seemed the fighting was never going to end. However, he had the kid. He tipped his chair back and looked out the window into his domain. A warm smile briefly flashed across his face as he caught sight of the straight-back chair that had quietly taken up residence in his sickbay and housed either the kid or the resident Vulcan. He shrugged, before offering an unseen acknowledgment to his apparent cohort. It seemed asked for or not, he had that pointy-eared hobgoblin to help him keep Jim living long enough to land in his hands. The clamor of the transport team at the door brought him back to himself.

Rising up, he gave the orderlies their orders, making sure they kept the Captain off his back and the reopened injuries. Moments later, he was running down the hallways of the _Enterprise_ , one hand on the transporter gurney. Passersby pressed against the wall, leaving them a clear path.

Speed and precision. It was always about one or the other. Sometimes both, when it got down to the wire. He'd know soon enough which was needed this time.

Hell, he was certainly being a melodramatic ass today. Ducking into the turbo lift that would take them to Sickbay, he spared a moment to see how Jim was handling the transport. He wasn't. The brief respite unconsciousness had granted him had ended and he was awake and all too aware. The lines around his eyes had deepened and the tension he'd attributed to pain had worsened while his breathing had quickened. A sweep of the tricorder confirmed his assessment as he noted the raised blood pressure. Consciousness had not done him any favors, but Jim remaining out until they reached Sickbay had been a pipedream. Waving a hand at the crew managing the medical hovercraft, he stepped up beside his friend and patient.

"Got anything to tell me?"

"I didn't do anything!" A scowl settled across his face, only to be chased off by a quickly followed grimace as he hissed in pain.

"What's the pain like?"

Jim bit down on his bottom lip, tensing before easing off and leaving behind small cuts from the edges of his teeth. "Shifting. Then a tearing. Comes and goes," he spit out.

"Well it’s going now." Bones slipped a hypo from his pocket, checking the content and dosage before pressing it against Jim's neck and cutting off his exasperated, "Dammit Boness…”

McCoy shook his head, the smile pulling at his lips giving away his fondness for his exasperating patient. Motioning to the crew operating the stretcher, he strode forward and around the corner to the turbo lift.

*****

The gasping hiss of the turbo lift’s doors sliding open echoed in the brief silence before it was swallowed by the sounds of their boots as they marched into the corridor and through the gaping doors of Sickbay. A familiar profile caught his attention on the edge of his side vision and he glanced over, catching sight of Spock's silent form as he stared at them. The Vulcan's full attention was on the gurney his Captain's limp form lay upon.

Leonard turned his attention back to the waiting doors of Sickbay. Spock would make his way into the room and settle quietly in the chair he'd vacated earlier that day. He'd be fine.

"Here, here. Place him here." He directed them to the biobed he preferred when treating Jim. It wasn't particularly special. It had the same the same capabilities as the other beds, but when things were at their worst he'd always considered it the most accessible to emergency supplies. A pained groan had him turning on his heel to glare at one of the techs helping with the transport. Damn fumble-fingered idiots. "Dammit, don't jolt him. You'll make it worse," he barked out.

Waving the crew off, he called for blood work and nodded as Chapel stepped up and undertook that task. He had other concerns. Stepping to the side of the beast of a machine, he fiddled with the controls and set them for a deeper scan than the tricorder was capable of providing. The blood seeping from Jim’s back was disconcerting. A cart of supplies appeared at his side and he offered Chapel a nod of thanks as she scurried off to process the blood test. Gently, Leonard peeled back the bloodied bandages and set about cleaning the re-opened cuts. The more blood he removed, the deeper he frowned. The viscous fluid had hidden the fact that it wasn't Jim's actions that had torn the stitches; instead it was a raised area that had developed under the skin and literally stretched the his careful handiwork till half the neat row of stitches had popped and further irritated the edges of the wound. The gash had gained only a few millimeters as far as he could tell, but it had been enough to further damage the already weakened skin. That damn poison had a lot to answer for. If not for it, those wounds would have already been healed. The skin beneath them was stretched and raised slightly.

Running his hands over the distorted area, he felt for a possible cause. He dismissed the possibility of swelling immediately. There was too much structure to the feel of it. Growling softly, he grabbed a light from the cart and examined the split where the stitches had popped. The cuts had deepened since this morning. Or no. The distension had torn the final layer of connective tissue that had prevented the mostly superficial cuts from reaching the muscle tissue. The beep of the biobed alerted him to the completed scan and Leonard turned to Nurse Crowl.

"Bandage him up so he doesn't bleed more than we can avoid, while I figure out what's going on."

At her brisk nod of acknowledgment, he gave his full attention to the readings on the screen. A minute amount of the poison still registered in Jim's system. He nodded. That he could deal with. He had an antidote on hand. Toggling the screen, he activated the first level of the 3-D Imaging scanner. After making sure the damage was isolated to Jim’s torso, he set the parameters of the scan so it showed only the upper-body and the new distortion on the discolored area that always showed up on Jim’s scans; the discoloration that'd been in Jim's records since early childhood. Earlier testing marked it as a benign mapping of blood vessels, which in itself wasn’t rare. It was a trait shared by 10% of the population, but the continued expansion of the mass as Jim himself aged was the worrying factor. Various hypotheses notated on the sides of Jim’s files suggested the increased radiation count at birth had caused a slight defect that had caused the normally small sacs to continue to grow and develop. The unexpected growth of the sacs hadn’t threatened Jim’s health, but any attempt at removal, even of the normal sacs, _had_ resulted in a 100% mortality rate so they had been left alone except for constant monitoring. He tilted his head to the side. If the poison had reached that structure, then it could possibly have caused an issue there.

Tapping the control panel, he activated the second level of the 3-D Imaging system. The individual organs were visible now. Grousing at the computer, he cancelled out the images of the major organs, further narrowing the focus on the developing distortion on the sacs. Under this scan, it wasn’t just a dark discoloration distorting the sacs. A vertical tear marred the surface of the left sac and the resulting blood flow had caused the discoloration. Frowning, Bones increased the image size and muttered to Chapel that the bleeding appeared to have stopped on its own, but that didn’t explain the type of intermittent pain Jim had described if the injury itself was stable. Possibly movement was what caused further harm? He tapped the screen again and called on the third scanning level, focusing on the injured blood vessel sac and bit back a curse. Just by the fact they had continued growing, he had expected some differences from Jim’s sacs and those of others who shared his condition.

But this... He banished the rest of the touch screen controls in order to gain a larger view of the results. The mass had appendages in it. One large curvature with four thinner tines nestled together resided in each sack-like blob of blood vessels. Given their position he could just make out the shadow of a large joint at the base of the curvature. "What the-- Fuck, kid. It can't be that." He jerked his gaze away from the screen and stared at the unconscious form of his best friend. One of them after this long? That's supposed to be impossible. "What's going on with ya now, Jim?"

They were limbs. Internalized limbs and Jim's latest fiasco had somehow disturbed or damaged the one on the left side. And he had to be the one to fix it. Dammit all to hell. As if that weren't enough, he still had to explain it to the damned hobgoblin friend of theirs. Some days just weren't worth getting up for.

****

Sitting at his desk in his primary lab, Spock crossed out a section of the proposal he was proofing for one of his science officers. The concept was sound if idealistic, but the organization of its undertaking proved lacking. It would need heavy revision before he could allow Officer Goldman to begin his research.

"Sickbay to Commander Spock."

Tapping his communicator, Spock laid the PADD on the table and gave the communiqué his full attention. "Yes?"

"The Captain used his code. Doctor McCoy is attending him. He asked that you meet him here."

"Certainly." He ended the call without bothering with traditional formalities. He had found that in circumstances where Jim was involved, traditional formalities often fell to the wayside. Snatching his PADD from his desk he ignored the inquisitive glances of his co-workers and strode out the door. He'd been standing since the Nurse had mentioned the Captain. It had become an automatic reaction in the past year and a half. If Sickbay called for him specifically, it was normally because of the Captain. There had only been one instance where the Captain was not the subject of McCoy's summons when Spock himself was uninjured and that occurrence had involved his yearly physical. He had attempted to argue that his current state of good health indicated the exam had no purpose but to disturb him in the midst of his work. Important work. The archives had required extensive checks as he had become aware that some material proved difficult to find; therefore his attendance to the archives updates had been logical. Until Doctor McCoy had arrived, bag in hand, and started to give him his physical in the middle of the lab. At that point, he had conceded that perhaps his attendance was warranted and that he could spare an hour. The good Doctor had capitalized on his win for 1 week, 3 days and 8.6 hours, whereupon the Captain had been injured once more.

He commandeered the nearest turbo lift, acknowledging the departure of its previous occupants with a slight nod that they had possibly missed when the doors abruptly slid shut as he tapped the automatic override that placed the lift under his temporary command. 25 seconds later the doors slid open and he marched down the silver-tinted halls of their ship and through the doors of sickbay. The latest modifications he'd done to the lifts had proven beneficial. Doctor McCoy and the Captain were mere meters ahead of him. 3.4 if he chose to be precise. And he did. It was a necessity, as was the admission that despite the fact that the Code had been employed, an action the Captain undertook only when his need became dire, his chances for recovery hovered between 74 and 83 percent if the cause lay in the same direction as his previous ailment. The data the Doctor provided after their arrival to Sickbay would allow for a more accurate assessment of the Captain's status.

Keeping to a measured pace, Spock followed the group of medical professionals into Sickbay. Doctor McCoy's barked orders of, "Here, here. Place him here. Damnit, don't jolt him. You'll make it worse," reassured him with their banality. He stepped to the side, taking a seat out of the way and within hearing distance of the biobed the Doctor hovered around. He'd been here this morning seated in the same chair as he waited for the Captain to be released. And now a mere 8 hours and 35 minutes later he was returning to his vigil and the Captain to his bed in sickbay. Their chess game would be postponed again. By his calculations, he was 6 moves away from checkmating his friend. He had refrained from stating so to the Captain's face. The last three time he had done so had resulted in two losses and one tie. The Captain. His gaze flicked to the form on the bed at particularly vehement curse. Jim. Jim took the assertion as a challenge, one he'd faced with an admirable skill and illogical logic.

He returned his gaze to the PADD in his hand, quickly notating corrections and possible areas for improvement to the proposal. That task underway, he turned back to the chess game. It was one of many and yet not. Normally they would begin a new game should ship's business interrupt their play, but this time he had not tucked each piece away and set the three-dimensional board aside to await the beginning of a new game. But then this game had been different as well. Normally Jim directed their conversations with queries and by offering his thoughts on the current status of present, past, and future assignments. They discussed possible protocol changes and drills. Later as the game drew towards its conclusion personal details and questions surfaced. They had played to this pattern for the last year. Until three days previous when the anniversary of their first game had arrived. Spock had broached the subject of why Jim had approached him at the end of shift the day of his and Nyota's breakup.

***

Eyes narrowed, Spock watched the jittery behavior of his friend as the silence stretched between them. he had asked his question 2 minutes earlier and had yet to receive an answer.

Jim glanced up from the board, his finger lightly tapping the top of a rook. He eyed him momentarily before, his eyes narrowing as they did when he attempted to divine the reasoning behind an action that puzzled him. “Why now? I mean its been almost a year since then.”

Spock paused, tilting his head to the side before reclaiming his previous good posture and answering. Jim’s question did have merit even if the answer Spock had to give was not as sophisticated as he would have liked. “As time has passed and our friendship has deepened I have found myself wondering why you chose then to act on your desire to seek out my company.”

Jim shrugged, snatching one of the pawns he’d captured from its place beside the board and toying with it. "Because getting dumped sucks. Because you had the time and so did I."

He had allowed the comfortable silence they often shared when in one another’s company to settle between them as he analyzed the answer he had been given. "Despite its overly descriptive nature I concur with the first statement, but I find the latter erroneous as there was always the possibility of time in order for us to engage in a game of strategy."

Jim snorted, shaking his head as he chuckled slightly. Turning his attention back to Spock, he brushed some flyaway strands of hair out of his face. "The possibility, yeah. But not the reality. Uhura threatened to castrate me anytime I got within ten feet of you during a non-work situation." He tilted his head to side before clarifying with an indulgent smirk. "Nonverbally of course. She's got that glare down pat."

He had been puzzled by that revelation. Admittedly he and Jim had not had the most auspicious of beginnings, but their afternoon chess games had proved beneficial to both of them and it had not been clear to him as to why Nyota would have sought to keep them separated. "You attempted to associate with me and were rebuffed by the Lieutenant?"

"Well over a dozen times." Jim bit at the inside of his lip while rolling one of the pawns he captured between his thumb and fore-finger. "Look. You were her boyfriend. She wanted your time to be hers and I've never really been one of her favorite people. I'm still not exactly. She has no problem working with me, so it's not really a problem."

"That is not the point. I find her decision to manage my interactions with my co-workers disconcerting."

Jim shrugged. Maybe Vulcan's didn't share the human tendency towards possessiveness or jealousy, whichever it'd been. "I'm pretty sure she only did it with me. It bugged me. Didn't like it, but I got it. It's a non issue."

He had met and held the blue gaze of his friend and found only resignation tinged with irritation. "Very well. I will trust your judgment of the situation; however, I would like the answer to my original question."

"You just got it."

"I asked 'why you sought my company.' Instead you have endeavored to explain why that particular time resulted in my reception of your inquiry and not the reason behind the inquiry itself." At the apparent indecision of his-friend, Spock had decided to invest in a technique he had observed the Captain use to his own benefit since taking on this command. He surprised him. "Please, Jim."

Blue eyes widened momentarily before Jim turned to the chessboard, but by the firm set of Jim's mouth and the almost warmth in his eyes, Spock assumed that his plea had been enough to coax his friend into providing the information he sought. "You know that mission. The one where the natives decided that red blood made me demonic or whatever the hell it is they feared?"

Even now he could still vividly recall the planet and its superstitious people. It had been a particularly tricky mission, but they had managed to keep bloodshed to on both sides at to a minimum. He had still recommended that only non-human members of the Federation visit the planet when submitting his report. "Yes. Their fears were based on the presence of a highly contagious bacterial infection that caused--"

"Yeah. That one." He had tapped the corner of the three-dimensional board with the base of Spock's captured pawn. "See. The disease was bizarre, but what I remember is the fact that was the first mission we really got it. As a team since Nero. I was bound, gagged, and tied out on a stake for some of it, but we still got out of it. Without needing to give each other grandiose directions. It was...it was..." he trailed off. Blowing out a deep breath he tipped his head back and stared at the monochromatic ceiling. "It was like dancing. We both did our parts to keep from crashing into anyone else on the floor and we didn't mess each other up in the process. It was great."

Spock had turned his own attention to the board and stared at the pieces and their patterns. Some of the traps he knew would be destroyed before they could trigger. He could even postulate how. And there were other plans on the board that would be rendered useless despite his expectations of their success, much as the recent trap Jim had dismantled before their conversation. He shifted his castle into position and claimed one of Jim's errant knights. "And you believe this...dance you speak of is great? Or you being bound and gagged? If it is the former, then I concur with your assessment. If it is the latter I must recommend that you seek out the good Doctor's expertise."

"Quit it with the mental bit. I'm sane as anyone else in the 'fleet. You included." Rolling his eyes, Jim turned back to the subject at hand. "And yeah, it is the former. That ability to click. To work together. Except for Bones, I haven't met anybody besides you that I work that well with." He shrugged, reaching forward and shifting the position of one of his pawns.

"I wanted to see if it could be like that outside of the whole 'I'm gonna die' deal."

"Fascinating."

"We'll see if you still think that when I checkmate you in four turns."

***

He stared at the screen of the PADD in his lap. They had never finished that game. A mission had come in and they had parted with the intention of meeting to complete the game once their object was completed. The squeal of a chair being dragged across the floor caught Spock's attention. The noise grated on his sensitive ears, creating an echo effect that made him wish to indulge in the human gesture of shaking his head. It was a disconcerting manner in which to be returned to the current matter at hand. He did allow himself the act of raising a single eyebrow as both a chastisement and a query. Doctor McCoy simply shrugged and plopped himself down in his requisitioned chair.

Spock watched the doctor fidget for the moment. The good doctor alternated between glancing at him, then Jim, and then running a hand through his already ruffled hair before repeating the process. It was most disconcerting. Doctor McCoy was not known for his hesitancy when it came to reporting on the specifics of Jim's medical issues, whether it be to his or Jim's face. Spock had come to find his concept of tact considerably lacking when Jim was involved. He had surmised early on in their mission that the familiarity between the pair allowed for the absence of the traditional level of decorum between patient and doctor. That assumption had become suspect in recent months past when he found himself similarly subjected to the doctor's tender mercies, as Jim was wont to phrase it.

"Doctor?"

"Yeah?"

"You appear to be disturbed. Has the Captain's condition deteriorated?"

"No. Not exactly." McCoy looked away with a grimace. "Look, he's stable. But there's some underlying issues."

"That is a common scenario with the Captain."

Doctor McCoy barked out a short laugh. "Yeah. He's a trouble magnet alright." What little mirth he appeared to find in the assertion quickly dissipated. He straightened up in the hard backed chair, losing the illusion of relaxation. His gaze was sharp and when he spoke, his voice had lowered to the point where Spock's more sensitive hearing was all that allowed him to catch the order masked as a request.

"Let's take this to my office. This is one issue I don't see a point in airing."

A slight crease graced Spock's brow before he soothed the emotionally directed movement and returned to his normal expression of inquiry. "Indeed. I will join you."

McCoy nodded, standing abruptly from his chair and stalking toward the sanctuary of his soundproof office. "Leave the chair. You'll be using it later. This won't be a quick fix."

***

Spock eyed the agitated figure of Jim's best friend. As soon as he had followed McCoy into the office, the man had engaged his privacy locks and activated the sound buffer that would prevent sound from entering or escaping the room. As befitting his status as Jim's doctor, McCoy had always upheld the confidentiality patient and doctor in an appropriate manner, but he had rarely gone to such lengths. Normally a quiet discussion either over Jim's bedside or in an out of the way corner of the room sufficed.

Standing in front of the Doctor's desk, Spock waited as the good doctor fiddled with with a PADD. Hands folded in the small of his back he started to inquire as to the reason behind the silence. The PADD thrust abruptly into his reach silenced him.

"Look through that. Then I'll explain."

Dipping his head in acknowledgment, Spock relieved him of the PADD and began scrolling through the selection of data loaded into the device. There was very little written data. The file mainly consisted of pictures. The first set denoted a small, sack-like structure of blood vessels that was only marked as benign. It was dated twelve years ago. The next set of files showed the same mass, only it was larger and as the pictures progressed it continued to grow. Reviewing the dates of this set of files, he noted that the earliest one had been taken four years, three months, and seventeen days ago, whereas the latest was only thirty-six minutes old. "This growth is the Captain's?"

McCoy huffed, tossing a glare in his direction. "Considering, he's the only one on this ship we both share medical proxy over, I'd damn well hope so. Now finish the file so I can explain the mess our brat's gotten in to this time. You won't believe it otherwise."

"Very well." Spock shifted his grip on the PADD and used his other hand to open the next set of image files. These images held a great deal more detail. He could see the structure of the blood vessel web that made up each mass. Tabbing, to the next picture, he noticed its focus on an area that appeared to have been damaged. While the discovery of such an injury was cause for concern, he still did not see why its presence dictated such stringent privacy demands. He looked up, his eyebrow shifting upward only to meet the darkened gaze of the doctor. A sharp gesture had him returning his attention to the PADD and the final picture. He took note of the distinct appearance of some type of growth within each sack. The structures were well defined by the imaging program. Had it been Jim who had presented the files he would have assumed this was an attempt at humor, but the doctor did not share that aspect of Jim’s personality. He would not have presented false data as “joke”. The appendages were real then. Despite not being typical of the human form. Eyes narrowing, Spock met McCoy's sharp gaze with his own. "Explain."

"So you see it too then," McCoy muttered as he waved him into the seat across from him. "Might as well sit down. This isn’t the shortest of explanations." That said, he reached out for the PADD.

Spock tightened his grip incrementally before releasing it to the doctor. He could review the material later. Perhaps during one of his breaks at Jim’s bedside.

"As I hope you figured out." He raised the pad and tapped on the latest x-ray of the growth. "These things have been there pretty much his whole life. He actually isn't the only one to have such a growth. About 10% or so of the population has it. He's just the lucky bastard whose growth _kept_ growing. I've kept track of it, as has every other doctor that got their hands on him before me, but there has never been an indication that the continued growth is bad for him."

"And the appendages?"

"Aren't the result of alien intervention. His body's too well adapted to supporting them." He brought up another slide. "Look here." Tapping the screen he outlined the joint at the base. "See how it connects to his back? There's extra bone mass here and here. And two more joints. One here and then the last one at the top of the arch. It's internal structure is fully formed. I'm not yet sure what it is exactly. I've got an idea, but it's a bit far-fetched."

"The Captain is human."

The phrase dropped into the quiet room, a reproachful quoting of a supposed fact. McCoy’s head jerked up and he met the dark gaze head on.

"He's as human as I am, Spock." McCoy looked away for a moment before turning back to the PADD. If his guess was right, then that statement held more truth than Spock would realize. "These aren't the main issue though. Sure, they're weird, especially with the history attached. Damn weird. But it's the damage the poison caused to the blood vessel sac that's causing problems." He fiddled with the PADD, muttering a curse under his breath as he went too far back and had to scroll forward again. "It's this spot. Some of the poison was unaffected by the treatment and remained in his system. I’m just guessing, but it apparently breached the sac here which has caused internal bleeding and a distention of Jim's back."

"You intend to remove it then?"

"Only if it endangers his life." Closing his eyes, McCoy reached up, rubbing at his brow. "Look, maybe it ain't logical. But I've got a feeling that cutting those off would be doing more harm than any of the last half-dozen, worst mission he's been on and that includes Nero. It just doesn't feel right."

Spock stiffened, his face becoming blanker than usual. "I had thought, Doctor, that your position in this field had been reached through scientific merit and not the ephemeral nature of emotionally based guesses."

Laying the PADD down on his desk, McCoy stood up. He held himself tensely, and a bitter edge clung to his voice when he spoke. "Sometimes Spock, all you've got left is that infinitesimal feeling that this is right or this is wrong. Sometimes there is no good answer. Just the hope that you weren't wrong. But this. This isn’t one of those. And I’m not wrong. He's hurt, not dying. I can fix this. Without removing the sac." His stride steady, McCoy keyed in the unlock code and strode out of the office. He had better things to do than argue with a mother-henning hobgoblin. He completely missed the thoughtful look cast his way by the room’s remaining resident.

***

Leonard McCoy leaned back against the outer wall of his office. Hell, he hadn't meant to do that. Jim's Vulcan First hadn't meant anything with his question about the possibility of removal. He'd seen it as a possible option in order to prevent further damage. And if Jim wasn't what he thought he was, then yeah, it'd be a possibility. But if he was... If he was one of them, then it'd be like signing his friend's death warrant with his own hand. Spock hadn't even been demanding the removal. Far as he could tell, the Vulcan had been fine with the situation going either way so long as the result benefited the Jim. And then he'd gone and brought emotion and guesswork into it. He knew better. He knew it got Spock's back up when he based any medical assertion tied to Jim on impractical facts like feelings or intuition. Scrubbing at his face, McCoy turned at the sound of his name.

"Dr. McCoy?"

"Yes, Nurse Chapel?"

"The Captain’s back has been cleaned and he is resting comfortably."

He could deal with the Vulcan later. He had an ultrasound to perform. "All right.

Dr. M'Benga nodded at him as he walked past and McCoy gave a short wave. He and M’Benga could discuss the day’s cases over a cup of something bracing later tonight after he’d dealt with Jim and Spock. He’d need the break from the exasperating pair of troublemakers that seemed determined to drive him around the bend or turn him grey.

***

McCoy pressed the hypo against Jim’s back just to the side of the open tear and delivered the localized painkiller. It was one of the few Jim didn’t have issues with. Incidentally it was also one of the few painkillers on the market that was similar in makeup to those used most often with the Tel Varyn. Evidence supporting his hypothesis just kept piling up. He had yet to figure out if that was good or bad for his young friend.

He lightly smeared the gel to the side of the wound, pleased at the lack of reaction from Jim. Holding out his hand, he accepted the head of the ultrasound. Pressing it against Jim’s back he shifted it slightly through the gel until he found what he was looking for. The 3-D Imaging Scanner produced amazing static pictures, but it would take too long to try to capture a movement using the Imager. The Ultrasound served him best for a more active image. He did lose some level of quality in the image, but it was at most a 20% depreciation due to current advancements. He snorted. Alien tech really. Humans were good, but it’d taken their allies’ aid to improve this simplistic device as much as they had. And there it was. The tear that had caused so much trouble. He shifted the ultrasound, trying to capture various angles of the tear before stopping and holding his position at the one that gave him the best view. He expected cartilage, a bony mockery of a limb. Instead he found translucent flesh covered in fluffy threads thin as silk that swayed in the viscous fluid cushioning the developing limb. Curiosity tinged with wonder held him steady as he studied the embryonic wing.

As he watched, the wing fluttered and shifted, pressing against the interior walls of the sac. The movement was small, barely more noticeable than a muscle twitch except in one area of the sac. The Parstan's poison had reached here as well and it had eroded the delicate tissue that held the structure inside immobile, breaching the encasement and weakening it. It shifted again and this time he saw the tip of something push through the opening and press against the breach, widening it farther and causing the internal bleeding the tricorder had picked up on earlier. Looking at it, the southern boy from another time found himself reminded of a chick hatching from an egg. It shifted again and the opaque tip pushed back through, opening the tear incrementally wider and spilling a viscous fluid along the outside of the sack.

Checking Jim’s stats through the biobed’s scanners he noted down the amount of time it took the bleeding to stop. Less than thirty seconds. The bleeding wasn’t an issue. Mutation of the wings wasn’t an issue. Handing the ultrasound over to Chapel, he stared down at his a friend a sharp, tight smile that contrasted with his fond gaze. A healthy, mostly matured Tel Varyn. The damn brat had beaten the odds...again.

"We're done here. I'd cause more harm trying to do anything more with it." It should have been grand. He should be elated at the return of the lost ones. But why in hell did it have to be Jim? Why in hell did it have to be his friend? Because Jim was one of them, the Tel Varyn or Homo Sapiens Volatilis as science had dubbed them, and he was reaching his last maturation cycle centuries too late to receive the help he was entitled too. Instead of the care of an entire clan all he had was a cranky divorcee, an uptight, pointy-eared hobgoblin masquerading as a Vulcan, and a crew of genius misfits.

Chapel and her cohorts had finished re-bandaging their Captain's back by the time McCoy had pulled himself away from staring at the bloodied tools and gauze pads decorating the once pristine table. "Dammit, Jim" he whispered, stroking a hand through the dirty blond locks after discarding his gloves. Sighing, he turned away from his friend. He still hadn't figured out how to inform Spock of Jim's newly discovered status. Not to mention the wings whose release had been jump-started by six months thanks to the Parstan natives and their love for corrosive poisons. He should have ordered Spock to shoot more of them while recovering Jim. It wouldn't a made a bit of difference, but it'd sure as hell make _him_ feel better. It's not like phasers set to stun would have killed them.

***

A brief look of puzzlement flashed across Spock's countenance as he watched McCoy stalk out of his own office in what Jim frequently termed as a huff. He had not meant any harm with his question. It had simply seemed a logical conclusion should this growth have matured to the point that its presence was detrimental to the Captain's health. Based on the doctor's reaction, he could only hypothesize that this was not a correct assessment of the situation. There was also the indication that McCoy was currently privy to more information than he had shared during their brief meeting.

He stood and strode towards the door, intending to question McCoy about any further data he might have withheld, only to stop as first Nurse Chapel and then Dr. McCoy strode past the window. Back straight, he settled his hands behind him and stared at the retreating figures. Despite his desire for the information McCoy held, he would not interfere in the man's duties. It was not the nature of their tentative friendship. Indeed, not even Jim held that right, despite the depth of their care for one another. He would wait. He would apologize. And then he would learn.

Till then, the contents of the PADD McCoy had left behind were quite...fascinating.

 

 

[Part 2](http://community.livejournal.com/3_infinite_fic/3237.html)


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If there's one thing in his life that Jim Kirk had never dreamed of, it was having wings. Too bad. He might have been a little better prepared when they showed up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to [](http://mijan.livejournal.com/profile)[**mijan**](http://mijan.livejournal.com/), [](http://triskellion.livejournal.com/profile)[**triskellion**](http://triskellion.livejournal.com/), [](http://gone-ashore.livejournal.com/profile)[**gone_ashore**](http://gone-ashore.livejournal.com/), and [](http://whiteraven1606.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://whiteraven1606.livejournal.com/)**whiteraven1606** for the beta work, suggestions, and pointing out when I created really big plot holes. Thank you to the moderators at au_bigbang for their patience. They really have tons of it. Thanks to chosenfire28 for the beautiful poster. It was so sweet of her to do it. :D Also, please note that any remaining mistakes are solely of my own making. My betas are exceptionally good at what they do. I just tend to re-write frequently and create new mistakes…. Also, midterms are evil.

Disclaimer: Except for any original characters they're not mine, but they did join me for a play date. All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. This is for fun. Please treat it as such. NO COPYRIGHT INFRINGEMENT INTENDED.

I originally posted this a few years ago.

 

The silence of the enclosed office ended with the swish of the opening door as McCoy strode in and allowed himself to sink in the comfortable chair behind his desk.  
  
"Dr. McCoy."  
  
"Yes, Spock."  
  
"I believe I owe you an apology. My question of removal was not intended to offend--"  
  
"Yeah, yeah." McCoy raised a hand and batted at the air.  
  
"Dr. McCoy. I have yet to understand why hitting a non-solid entity such as air would be seen as an effective measure for cutting off a conversation. I would ask that you desist and allow me to complete the statement of my error."  
  
Snorting, McCoy muffled his mirth and held up a hand for silence. "Your statement of error, as you deem it, is unnecessary. I get it. You didn't have all the facts. How could you? I don't think it's even in the history books as more than a footnote anymore."  
  
"Please clarify what missing historical data has to do with the Captain's condition."  
  
McCoy tipped forward, his elbows thumping on the desk. "Everything, Spock. It has everything to do with it." Still speaking, he dug around in the catch-all lock-box Jim had presented him with on his last shore-leave. It was made from some alien metallic compound that rippled like a piece of abalone shell when placed in direct light. "What do you know of the peoples of Earth before the third World War?"  
  
Mildly perplexed, but willing to indulge the eccentricity of his human companions, Spock sat forward and began to recite what he knew of that time period. "It was a time period in which the greed of the government overruled the will of the people and ultimately ended in the destruction and death of many--"  
  
"No, no. Not the character of the Earth and its inhabitants, but the peoples of Earth itself." He ducked below his desk. "Never mind. That was an answer in and of itself."  
  
One eyebrow rose, the only sign of his buried irritation at the constant interruptions. "How so?"  
  
"Because before World War III, Earth had two kinds of humans. Homo Sapiens and the Homo Sapiens Volatilis who referred to themselves as Tel Varyn. They were virtually identical to humans for the most part. In fact for centuries they had used that similarity to blend in, until one day they simply stopped hiding. You see, humans have always had tales of winged humans. They were even woven into some of the religions like Christianity. People called them Angels and Demons. The Greeks and Romans had Cupid and Eros. The thing is Spock, they weren't myths."  
  
"I have never come across a reference of this absent race."  
  
"And you make it a habit to scroll through centuries' old records in the historical archives of Earth?"  
  
"No, I do not."  
  
"Didn't think so." He shrugged before sighing and offering a balm to his companion's irritation. "Look, Spock, it's not something you'd just stumble across. No race likes to admit their own stupidity eradicated their sibling race."  
  
"Eradicated?"  
  
"Yeah. The Tel Varyn  _were_  a lot like humans. They just had some extra bits, like wings, and a high susceptibility to nuclear radiation before their last stage of maturation. They went through the traditional sexual maturity and then upon reaching the age of twenty-seven they reached their final stage of physical maturity. The wings they'd spent their lives developing emerged. And their mental capabilities developed. All Tel Varyns were a hundred percent psi null until after gaining their wings. Even then, most of them only gained enough strength in that area to manipulate quantum folding in order to hide their wings. It's said their explanation for the ability was that 'We cannot make something from nothing, but we can make nothing from something.' That was the normal way of things."   
  
He trailed off, his hands clenching tightly on the box. "Except after the War, the ings of immature Tel Varyn were twisted, nightmare versions of what they should have been. It killed them. Every last one of them with an active inheritence died screaming as their families watched. They had lived alongside humans for millenia and by our own stupidity we committed accidental genocide."   
  
McCoy paused, flexing his hands as he re-grouped. "It was hypothesized at the time, that the humans were the descendants of Tel Varyn who never developed their wings due to a genetic mutation." He paused, peering over the edge of his desk. Spock sat poised in his chair, proper as ever. His eyes though were as expressive as Jim frequently claimed them to be. He was intrigued.  
  
"Fascinating."  
  
McCoy smirked. "Isn't it?  
  
"I surmise from your explanation and the similarity of the timeline to Jim's own age and appearance of the appendages that you believe Jim is a descendant of this lost race?"  
  
"Yeah. A descendant with an active inheritance that is currently going through a forced, premature maturation cycle." He pulled himself off the floor with a grunt and set the lockbox he'd had stored in the locked, bottom drawer of his desk on the table. "That and the good look I got at 'em while we were doing the ultrasound. Immature as they are, they match a description I found years back." He tapped the box. "These here are the journals of a man who lived with them. He wrote down what he learned of them in his personal journals. Never published. They wouldn't have allowed that. They were just as tight-lipped as your lot are when it comes to their medical records. Especially information pertaining to their young that were experiencing the last stage of maturation."  
  
"Young? Twenty-seven is considered youthful, but it is still the age of an adult."  
  
"Of an adult human. Not a Tel Varyn. Adults were those who had gained their wings and passed through their first mating and bonded to their chosen. Considering their average lifespan was well into the triple digits, twenty-seven was young for them."  
  
"Their wings were that important then?" The slightest amount of tension settled in the Vulcan's frame as he braced himself for the expected answer.  
  
"Their wings were life or death for them. Without the proper aid, a young Tel Varyn could die during his maturation. And the loss of them…" McCoy trailed off, closing his eyes against the memories. Her screams. They echoed over the centuries and he shuddered. The blood and screams. A human yelling about slaying demons and no one able to stop him before he'd shorn the beautiful leather appendages from her back. She and her bondmate dead within days of the event. And the only remaining witness to the atrocity that'd lead to so many now antiquated laws were a man and his journal. It could never be enough. It could never convey the horror of that day   
  
"McCoy?" A soft inquiry that had him jerking upright in his chair, his hands tightening their grip on the lock-box.  
  
"Losing their wings, Spock." He broke off, taking one deep shuddering breath and then another. "The loss of their wings is a death sentence. Grimm never learned why. He only wrote that it had a 100% mortality rate without exception" He gripped the edge of the lockbox, his knuckles turning white and whispered, "It's something I can't fix."  
  
Silence settled around them, the gravity of the situation weighing on them both.  
  
Bringing his hands to the front, Spock pressed his fingers together as he focused. The intensity of his determination echoed in his voice. "Then we must endeavor to see that this fate you speak of does not befall the Captain."  
  
McCoy nodded. "I guess we must." He sighed and relaxed back into his chair. Jim had been right about the lumbar support when he ordered it against his wishes. It was rather comfortable. He stared at the box and the journal he kept there.   
  
Spock set the PADD down on the table with a click, pulling his attention away from his musings. "Is there anything else we need to discuss, Doctor?"  
  
"No, not at the moment. I've got to send a report apprising command of the situation and Jim's possible change of race(or species?) and that he'll be on medical leave until his wings have hatched so to speak." He grimaced and glared at his computer terminal. "Beyond that, we just have to wait for Jim to wake from this round of sedation. I imagine I'll find you perched by his bed sometime around then?"  
  
One narrow brow rose and McCoy bit back a chuckle. Unless the ship was under attack, Spock would be there.  
  
Spock rose gracefully from his chair, his hands moving to settle in the small of his back, though his gaze kept flicking toward the aged notebook nestled in its container.   
  
McCoy eyed the stoic figure of his companion before pushing the lock-box and its key forward. Curiosity had to be eating him alive. "Here. It'll help somewhat. You might as well know almost as much as I do."  
  
There was a lightening of Spock’s eyes as he reached forward and collected the box and its contents. McCoy would have sworn it was a smile. Stunned, he watched his ally and friend get up and prepare to leave his office. Not entirely sure why he was doing so, he tossed one last thing at the other man. "Hey, Spock. Call me Leonard. It's only right we both have someone adult to speak with while looking after the kid."  
  
A pause in the steady stride and then a slight dip of the perfectly coifed head was the only acknowledgment Spock gave to acknowledge the permission.  
  
***  
 _…came here to work at the local hospital. I wanted a break from the highly populated areas. I didn’t come here to be picked over and examined by a metaphysically gifted sub-species and then asked politely if I’d like to go back to med school and learn how to treat them. But here I am, studying the skeletal and musculature structure of a winged type of Homo Sapien. It’s amazing, especially as they know what I am. What I became. And they don’t care…_  
  
The soft snick of booted feet heading in his direction redirected Spock’s attention from the journal in his hands to the tired figure of Leonard McCoy. "You have finished your report?"  
  
"And had it sent to command. I expect we'll get a reply soon." He stepped up beside the bed, checking the sensor readings and nodding at what he found.   
  
"How long till Jim regains consciousness?"  
  
"Soon."  
  
Spock straightened in his chair, offering a raised eyebrow and mild look of reproach. He had become used to Leonard ambiguous answers over the past few years, though he had yet to find it in himself to do more than tolerate them.   
  
He chuckled, shaking his head as he seated himself on an unoccupied bed. "The sedatives are mostly out of his system, though I still have him on the pain meds. He'll wake when he wakes Spock." Leonard shrugged, a pensive look replacing the normal gruff affability. "But since it's Jim, I doubt we have long to prepare…"  
  
Glancing from doctor to patient, Spock spoke quietly, "Prepare, Leonard?"  
  
"It's…how do you tell someone they've been ticking the wrong box on their 'Are You Human or Not' forms and that they belong to a race that's been thought of as extinct since before the Federation started?"  
  
Spock offered a nod of acknowledgment. This was not a normal event. He could understand why the situation would give Leonard pause. He turned more toward his friend, only to pause at the sound of an incoherent mumble from Jim's bed. When no further movement or sound followed, he continued, "I do not think this is something that can be prepared for. It can only be done. Would you prefer that I offer the explanation?"  
  
Leonard stiffened, turning a sharp gaze on him. "No, Mr. Spock I would not prefer that. I as his doctor will explain exactly what has happened to him." He offered a wry smile. "And then we'll both deal with him."  
  
"Deal with me how, Bones?"  
  
They both turned sharply towards the bed at the hoarse voice. Spock rose and moved to stand next to the bed, while Leonard busied himself with acquiring and providing a glass of water with a straw. He held it for Jim and ignored the glaring pout as he drank.  
  
"Hey, Spock. Sorry to drag you back here so soon." He smiled and attempted to push up, only to find two pairs of hands pressing him back down.  
  
"It was no trouble Jim."  
  
His smile widened before he turned his attention back to the bed in front of his face. "So why am I still face down?" His voice regained its normal, smooth tone.  
  
Spock shifted slightly before settling with his hands behind his back, looking first to Leonard and then back to Jim.  
  
"What? What's going on with you two? It can't be that bad. There's a antidote for the poison."  
  
"No, no. It's not necessarily bad. Just…unexpected." Bones paused, shifting his weight from foot to foot. "It turns out the blood vessel sacs you've had all your life aren't an anomaly. They mark you as part of a sub-species of Homo Sapiens, Homo Sapiens Volatilis, or as they were called, the Tel Varyn. A Tel Varyn hasn't been seen in centuries. They were believed to be extinct—"  
  
"If they're extinct then what do they have to do with me?"  
  
Spock stepped in offering clarification, "Believed to be, Jim. It would seem that this belief is false."  
  
Waving Spock, of Bones took over the explanation again. "Spock's right. Since you're here in front of us alive and well, it's false. You have the one trait that most set them apart from the average human."  
  
"What? An undeniable charm?"  
  
"Hmpf." He rolled his eyes, smiling fondly before he turned serious again. "No, wings. You have wings.  _That's_  what caused the pain you felt. The poison perforated one of the sacs containing your wings and triggered a premature emergence. The tearing pain was one of your wings pushing its way out."  
  
Jim sucked in a hard breath, held it then released it slowly. "I'm guessing since Spock isn't giving you that look of extreme disapproval that you're not joking." A hopeful undertone silently asked them to be joking.  
  
Spock stepped around and joined Leonard in front of Jim. "You would be correct in that assumption, my friend."  
  
Jim swallowed and allowed his head to drop back to the pillow below him. "I've always been this?"  
  
Bones gripped his shoulder tightly. "Since birth, Jim. The wings only mean you have an active inheritance and would be considered a true Tel Varyn."  
  
"Soooo. I'm giving birth to wings?"  
  
Bones snorted, choking on shocked laughter before he regained himself. "Yeah, kid. You're having wings."  
  
Spock sighed, a minute shake off the head conveying resignation that the amusement in his gaze rendered false. He waited, allowing them to joke back and forth till the tension had left Jim's prone form and Leonard had moved on to explain Jim's options for pain management. Despite his distaste for all three solutions, Jim chose the medically induced coma as the least likely to drive him to commit an illogical act. Spock offered his thanks for Jim's consideration during the following moment of quiet camaraderie and redirected their collective attention to another pressing matter.  
  
"There is also the topic of whether or not to inform the crew of this development."  
  
"Tell them. Pike too, if you don't mind. If Bones is right—" He rolled his eyes at his long time friend's grumbling. "—I'm not going to be able to hide them. They'd find out anyway." He dropped his chin to his folded hands. "This way they'll get the correct information instead of an overblown rumor put out by the gossip mill."  
  
"Your reasoning is logical. I have found that a rumor without truth can cause more harm than the initial truth may have."  
  
Bones groaned in horror at the thought. "Even I'm not sure I want to know what they'd come up to explain this."  
  
Jim quipped back with, "I bet at least one would have had something to do with alien babies."  
  
Bone's pained look and Spock's twitching eyebrow made the resulting pain from his guffaws worth it.   
  
***  
Admiral Pinette rubbed the bridge of her nose as she went through the medical reports submitted by the various CMO's within the 'Fleet. There were days when she wished she'd taken her promotion and shoved it in the nearest disposal unit. Today hadn't hit that point yet. Her aide had managed to weed through bulk of the reports so that all she had left to go over were the more unusual cases.  
  
She opened the next document; mild curiosity at the fact McCoy had marked it urgent making her pay a bit more attention. She read it once, her face losing its coloring until she was bone-white. With an unsteady voice, she commanded the computer to lock her office and refuse entry to everyone until she ordered otherwise.  
  
This wasn't supposed to happen, not again. Not after her Jesse, her baby boy. No one else should have known about the old records of  _Them_  here. She had locked the medical documents behind the highest access codes and then had them pulled from the online digital system to a blocked one the day It killed him. She had done the same to the historical archives the before she'd seen him cremated and his ashes scattered over the bay.  
  
It wouldn't happen again. There wouldn't be another born. Their kind had no place here, not anymore. Her son had proved that as he screamed his throat bloody because he was unable to stop It, his other self the wings awakened. She swallowed, hearing the echoes of his screams again. She'd been so proud, so happy when her hypothesis proved true and the compound worked. They'd grown and grown and then when he turned 27 their dream became a nightmare. Every aspect of the family history she'd read from the journals passed down through the centuries had proved to be only the cruelest of fool's gold and it had cost her everything.  
  
Never again. Remove the wings and you remove the otherness. And then the problem would never exist.   
  
***  
  
A heavy silence settled over the bridge as Admiral Pinette cut off communication.  
  
Spock's hands gripped the arms of the command chair, digging into the material and leaving behind dents. She had ordered an action that according to all known information could only lead to his Captain's… His eyes narrowed. No, his  _friend's_  death. She had as much as admitted her knowledge of this inevitable outcome when he had attempted to sway her from her decision.  
  
Chekov's softly spoken query broke through his anger-fueled incredulity, "Commander?"  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"We will fight her, yes?"  
  
Nyota stepped up beside him, her mouth tight with anger. "Of course. He may be a pain at times, but he's our pain." She bit her lip before adding, "He isn't even much of a pain anymore."  
  
Sulu chimed in with his own view on their right to defend their Captain and Spock listened to them plot and plan as he regained control of himself and restored his own balance. Yes, they would fight this.  
  
"Lt. Uhura, please transfer Admiral Pinette's missive to Dr. McCoy's office." He released the chair, flexing his fingers to ease the aching muscles. "Mr. Sulu, you have the conn. I will inform Leonard of this development and then we shall convene to further plan this engagement."   
  
As he exited, Spock heard Nyota place a call to engineering and he nodded, satisfied. The whole ship would know the threat hanging over their Captain by lunch. He did not doubt that the crew would rise to the occasion and defend their commanding officer.  
  
***  
  
Leonard glanced up from his latest examination of Jim's back. Their Captain was out of it and dead to the world. The medical coma hadn't been his preferred choice either, but it was the one option Jim had believed he could live with.  
  
Repeated sedation would have caused too many problems and the constant pain of the wings breaking through would have been torture even with pain killers, so he'd had to remain content with the lesser of three evils. It left them too blind as to what was going on. The imagery system and ultrasounds could tell him a great deal, but Jim’s input into what he felt was going on would have been better. It would have given them something to compare to the descriptions of past maturities in the journal and whatever extra data Command may be able to dig up.  
  
He had sent the report and subsequent request three days ago. The data should have arrived by now and the delay worried him. That was one thing he had not mentioned to Spock: his worry over Command’s lack of response. He had assumed that Pike would have sent a transmission as soon as he was able.  
  
"You're off shift early. Chekov and Sulu badgering you about Jim again?"  
  
Spock shook his head stiffly, his mouth pulled into a firm line that put Leonard on edge. The Vulcan was pissed at someone. Not him or he'd have already been on the end of a precisely timed remark.  
  
Stiffly, Spock bit out the message he'd come deliver. "You have a communiqué from Admiral Pinette. I have already spoken with her and noted my disapproval of her  _decision_."  
  
"What the--"  
  
Spock gave a quick negative shake. "Lt. Uhura has patched it through to your private office. I will sit with Jim."  
  
"Damn Starfleet and the bureaucracy they rode in on," he muttered. Shutting his office door behind him he turned on his comm and prepared himself to play the political game.  
  
****  
  
Leonard snarled. He wanted to smack her. This wasn't a political game. It was a death sentence handed down by an ignorant desk jockey that'd never done a goddamn day's field service in her life, much less served in any medical practice outside that of the most basic research and here she was telling him how to treat  _his_  Captain! Oh, hell no. Her god bedamned opinion wasn't worth the price of the data stream it'd arrived on. The Admiral's opinion, if this trash could be called that, on Jim's treatment was completely without merit or scientific basis. Leonard replayed the communication.  
  
"Doctor McCoy, it is the opinion of several of the Admiralty..." McCoy hissed a command to pause the transmission. That amounted to her and only her. He'd bet that only a handful of people had been cleared to see his report. He ordered the computer to continue. "...that the condition of Captain Kirk is dire. These growths will be treated as though they were an alien manipulation as they cannot be proven to be a valid genetic development of the human genome." On the PADD's screen she leaned forward. "In accordance with all applicable regulations you will remove the growths on Captain Kirk's back and report such action to myself immediately after the successful operation. Pinette out."  
  
Slamming the PADD down, McCoy picked up his glass of bourbon. He wasn't about to cut off Jim's wings just because that bitch didn't like them. Leonard quickly opened his file of all active regulations and started searching for anything that could actually force him to follow her order, or alternately, something that could make her swallow it and choke on it. He grabbed for the glass again, glancing out the window as he did so. Spock sat there, PADD in hand as he went over the day's paperwork. Leonard sat the glass down. It'd still be there tonight. For now he had some research to do and who better to help with it than a living, breathing computer. Or at least as close to one as they could get in this day and age.  
  
***  
  
"What would you propose we do, Leonard?"  
  
Said Leonard's lips twitched at the still present hesitation before his name. "I say we divide and conquer. I'm damn good at researching medicine. I can get my hands on any archived files that might pertain to Jim's situation or even his people. They're buried, not gone. May need to get someone to help me with gettin' past a few barricades that are sure to mysteriously appear in my way. My clearance is good. Damn good. I just don't know if it's this good. I can provide the medical foundation of an argument once I have the data to back me up, but she has higher access on some things than I do and if she’s blocked me..." He shrugged at the raised eyebrow his admission to a willingness to break regulations in order to overthrow the one being imposed on them. "But I'm shit when it comes to debating and nitpickin' all the laws that run this place. There's gotta be  _something_  somewhere that'll get us out of this and keep Jim safe."  
  
"If it is as you say, then we will find it."  
  
"Yeah. Yeah, we will. Ain't nothing but Jim himself that can beat my bullheadedness and your damn stubbornness. Too bad for them, Jim's on medical suspension till I say so." His grin grew sly. "So what's Scotty doing about that interference randomly preventing us from answering incoming comms. After all, the Sclentian system isn’t known for its regularity if all the bitching I’ve been hearing is right. And we do have that planet survey to do that’s in the worst sector of the system according to that briefing you gave the other day.  
  
Spock didn't even blink at the implied deception. "I believe he is researching the matter thoroughly. It could takes weeks to complete the investigation before repairs may be attempted."  
  
"Well, now. That's just too damn bad, isn't it?"  
  
"Yes. I do believe the Admiralty will find it extremely inconvenient to contact us for the duration. I will retire to compose a report of the situation for Admiral Pike. He can pass on our regards to the rest of the board."  
  
***  
  
"Dr. McCoy?"  
  
Leonard looked up from the PADD he was reading in order to view the visitor to his office. He frowned as he caught sight of her face. He knew her. She'd brought in some of her people, making sure they got proper medical care after being an idiot and then compounding their stupidity by refusing to come to sickbay. "Engineering department? You're Rolfe. Hillary Rolfe."  
  
"Yes, sir."  
  
He waved her into the seat and waited for her to speak. "Well?"  
  
She straightened up in her chair before meeting his gaze dead on. "The Captain, sir. Can the Admiralty really do that? Demand the removal of his..." She hesitated looking out the window to the figure on the biobed. "...wings?"   
  
Leonard sighed, bringing a hand up to rub at his tired brow. "Not if Spock and I have anything to say about it, Rolfe."  
  
She nodded. "Don't forget the rest of the command crew, sir. Commander Scott's got us all up in arms creating and researching that anomaly traveling through our communication systems. Admiral Pinette seems to have it the worst off of all of them. Pike's doing good though. He always seems to call at just the right time to beat its next cycle."  
  
Bones laughed, slumping back in his chair. "Sounds like the old dog. He's had the devil's own luck since I met him. Went and survived Nero and his damn slug with his legs intact. Damn good luck there."  
  
She shook her head briefly. "I think not, sir. He had you and the Captain. That's a damn sight surer bet than lady luck'll ever be." She dipped her head before getting to her feet. "The Admiralty didn't know who they were messing with when they sent that order, Dr. McCoy. There ain't a one of us on this ship who intend to let this decision come anywhere near being done. That's  _our_  Captain. He and Commander Spock are the ones who come back for us and make sure we get to your people when things go to hell in a hand basket. The Admiralty normally gets on his back about it, but he does it anyway."  
  
The southern doctor grunted, amused and touched by her defense of Jim. Secrets never did well in a ship. There was too little space to hide them. "All right. You've said your piece. Now get and tell Chekov to stop siccing his little cheer brigade on us. Two-thirds of the best command team in the fleet is more than enough to put a snooty Admiral in her place.” He shook his head, oddly cheered by the usual speed of the gossip network buried in the ship. Less than 48 hours and the situation was already out. Normally it annoyed the hell out of him, but if it made the crew more willing to work harder at the deception, then so be it.  
  
***  
  
Staring at the screen of his terminal, McCoy growled. He grabbed the nearest object in hand and threw it against the wall, finding satisfaction in loud thump as it slammed against the wall. He’d known Pinette would do something about his access, anything that would make it hard to access the medical databases. That had been fine to a point. He’d downloaded what little bit of information existed on the Tel Varyn years ago. Footnotes. The lot of it. There’d been nothing useful. But he damn well hadn’t expected her to lock him out of Historical Archives.   
  
He needed that damn Archive. That was where the information would be, buried in some derelict corner by a self-serving bureaucrat. It’d already been two weeks. They only had two left before they arrived at the planet they’d been ordered to survey, which meant there was only three possibly four weeks left to find the information necessary to keep their Captain whole unless they decided just say fuck it and go rogue. He snorted, grimacing at the thought of the mess that would create.  
  
The Admiralty would sure as hell never stand for that. They’d be chased, caught, and Jim would be dead when all was said and done. He needed that damn data that proved the existence of Jim’s people.  
  
Tapping his foot restlessly against the floor, he shoved himself out of his chair and stalked over to his liquor cabinet. He needed a drink.  
  
M'Benga's voice echoed in his ear as he called for him over his comm. Jim's wings had been so close to emerging over the past few days, he'd taken to wearing it everywhere, even to bed with him. Just in case. And now it'd paid off. Assuring M'Benga he'd be there momentarily, he called up Spock, waiting until the Vulcan answered before barking out "Jim. Sickbay. Now." He cut the connection and grabbed his boots off the floor jamming his feet in them and tugging them straight as he ran out the door. Spock was only strides away from the entrance to Sickbay when he came running up. Slowing down, he stopped to catch his breath while leaning on the wall outside the automatic doors. "The one night I give in and go back to my room. The one night, Spock. Even unconscious he's as much of a recalcitrant brat as ever," he groused lightly as he pushed of the wall and stepped through the open doors.   
  
"Considering Jim's lack of awareness, I find your assessment of his personality oddly apt despite the illogical nature of your statement."  
  
"That's most any situation that involves Jim. Wouldn’t you agree?"  
  
"Indeed."  
  
Chapel and M'Benga were over by Jim's area, keeping an eye on him and his vitals as his wings entered the last stretch of the fight they had been in to enter this world. They kept their hands to themselves though. If there was one thing John Grimm had stressed in his writings it was that only family or the closest companions to the fledgling should come into skin on skin or skin on wing contact with him. The birth of the wings awakened the Tel Varyn's psi powers and weak as they were from the emergence, a fledgling would not have any shields in place to defend themselves from unwanted mental contact. A stranger could react negatively to the close mental connection and such a reaction could and had ended in the death of both.  
  
Leonard caught Spock's gaze as they stepped into place, one on each side of Jim's bed. Spock would tend the right wing, while he tended the left. Chapel appeared at his side, while M'Benga stepped up to Spock's. Both of them set about arranging the hot water and towels that would be needed to wipe the wings clean of both the blood and sac fluid. He and Spock had already determined it would be best to clean the wings and the majority of Jim's back while leaving as much of a coating of the sac fluid around the base of the wings as possible. It would help protect against infection and aid the skin in healing over as quickly as possible.  
  
A violent shift under his hand called Leonard's attention back to the matter at hand. The skin above his hand parted and bled as the wing kept pushing outward. The past week of constantly striving to exit the growth sack had strengthened both wings. But not enough for it to make it all the way through and out. The bloodied limb trembled, pinned and folded in on itself. Reaching out, Leonard gently grabbed hold of the new appendage. A flash of wariness hit him, then curiosity and finally welcome as Jim figured out who it was touching him. The slight metaphysical contact jittered about in amusement poking at him. He pushed it to the side gently before tightening his grip on the wing. He pulled the appendage up and out. It moved a few centimeters, but not enough to free it. A pair of green tinted hands joined his.  
  
Spock stilled, eyes widening as Jim’s newly awakened mental presence swept over him. It was not words, but emotions danced through their contact. A brief moment of fear and then elation as his presence was identified followed by a distracting sense of playfulness and desire for attention. In that respect it rather reminded him of an infant sehlat. Lightly acknowledging the presence he regained himself and turned his awareness outward once more.  
  
McCoy raised an eyebrow, commiserating over the exuberant attentions of their friend before turning back to the wing cradled in their grips.  
  
"I will provide the strength if you will provide the direction."  
  
"I can work with that." Gentling his grip, Leonard used his lighter hold to guide the wing into a relaxed position as Spock eased it from its prison. By the time it was free, both of them were a mess and Jim was practically buzzing in their minds, tugging at their attention like a neglected lover or rather a spoiled brat.  
  
A second wet pop echoed in the silent room. The right wing had made its appearance. Releasing the left wing, they allowed it to curl in on itself and rest against Jim's back before moving to his other side and repeating the process. Soon both wings lay quietly against Jim's back. They were still filthy, but they would fix that soon enough.  
  
"Well, that was an interesting way to spend an hour."  
  
"Thirty-eight minutes," Spock corrected mildly.  
  
"Hmmph. Just wash up so we can get Jim cleaned up. If his back heals as fast as Grimm indicated with the sack fluid then we should be able to wake him by the end of the week."  
  
"I look forward to it."  
  
"Good. Then it's your job to keep him entertained and in bed where he belongs."  
  
“I will endeavor to do so.”  
  
“Smug Vulcan,” he muttered. “Just as bad as Jim except with better manners.”  
  
They separated and each took up their original positions on either side of their friend. Bones eyed the wings. They didn’t look like much, just lumps of fuzzy, bloody flesh. The curve of each nestled wing fit snug against Jim’s back. Birth it seemed wasn’t any prettier the second time around. He shrugged. They’d look better once cleaned.  
  
Resting a hand on the left wing, he gently straightened it out to its full length. “Looks a bit over two feet to me.”  
  
“Two feet, four and three-quarter inches to be precise. It is indeed a little over two feet as you would say.”  
  
“Almost five foot wingspan. He’s still well over a foot shy of where he should be for newborn wings. It’s a good thing they’ll continue growing for a while or he’d be handicapped and ground-bound.”   
  
“A factor which proper food and exercise should overcome according to your treatment plan. Or do you hold so little faith in your skill that you cannot as you say, ‘fix it’.”   
  
Snorting softly, Leonard tossed a dry sponge at his cohort. “Just start wiping and shut up.”  
  
“As you say.” A smirk ghosted across his lips as Jim’s internal laughter echoed McCoy’s amused glance.  
  
Silence settled in the room as they set aside their good-natured bickering in favor of finishing their task. Within the hour, the sponges were irreparably stained, the bowls of hot water had, had to be refreshed twice, and Jim’s bouncy presence had settled into a contented purr. But the wings were clean and covered in a light, golden hued down that was as soft as velvet. Not that they’d stay that way. As the wings grew larger, the down would eventually be replaced by sharp pinions that would become his first set of feathers.  
  
Stepping back to stand beside Spock, Leonard provided his assessment of the situation. “He looks like a debauched porn star in a Valentine’s Day special.”  
  
Chapel and M’Benga’s muffled laughter echoed throughout the room as Spock’s eyebrow rose towards his hairline.  
  
“Fascinating.” 


	3. To Dream of Wings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If there's one thing in his life that Jim Kirk had never dreamed of, it was having wings. Too bad. He might have been a little better prepared when they showed up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to [](http://mijan.livejournal.com/profile)[**mijan**](http://mijan.livejournal.com/), [](http://triskellion.livejournal.com/profile)[**triskellion**](http://triskellion.livejournal.com/), [](http://gone-ashore.livejournal.com/profile)[**gone_ashore**](http://gone-ashore.livejournal.com/), and [](http://whiteraven1606.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://whiteraven1606.livejournal.com/)**whiteraven1606** for the beta work, suggestions, and pointing out when I created really big plot holes. Thank you to the moderators at au_bigbang for their patience. They really have tons of it. Thanks to chosenfire28 for the beautiful poster. It was so sweet of her to do it. :D Also, please note that any remaining mistakes are solely of my own making. My betas are exceptionally good at what they do. I just tend to re-write frequently and create new mistakes…. Also, midterms are evil.

**Title:** To Dream of Wings  
 **Author:** Saharra Shadow  
 **Artist:** [](http://chosenfire28.livejournal.com/profile)[**chosenfire28**](http://chosenfire28.livejournal.com/)  
 **Fandom:** Star Trek XI  
 **Pairings:** Spock/Kirk/McCoy Friendship  
 **Rating:** NC-17  
 **Warnings:** Pre-Slash, medical scenes,  
 **Word Count:** 17,309  
 **Summary:** If there's one thing in his life that Jim Kirk had never dreamed of, it was having wings. Too bad. He might have been a little better prepared when they showed up.

Disclaimer: Except for any original characters they're not mine, but they did join me for a play date. All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. This is for fun. Please treat it as such. NO COPYRIGHT INFRINGEMENT INTENDED.

Author's Notes: Thank you to [](http://mijan.livejournal.com/profile)[**mijan**](http://mijan.livejournal.com/) , [](http://triskellion.livejournal.com/profile)[**triskellion**](http://triskellion.livejournal.com/) , [](http://gone-ashore.livejournal.com/profile)[**gone_ashore**](http://gone-ashore.livejournal.com/) , and [](http://whiteraven1606.livejournal.com/profile)[**whiteraven1606**](http://whiteraven1606.livejournal.com/) for the beta work, suggestions, and pointing out when I created really big plot holes. Thank you to the moderators at au_bigbang for their patience. They really have tons of it. Thanks to chosenfire28 for the beautiful poster. It was so sweet of her to do it. :D Also, please note that any remaining mistakes are solely of my own making. My betas are exceptionally good at what they do. I just tend to re-write frequently and create new mistakes…. Also, midterms are evil.

The Art:  


  


Spock looked up from his perusal of the computer terminal. Leonard sat in the chair across from his desk, browsing through the scant number of documents he’d managed to find in-between reviewing Grimm’s journal.

Three days had passed since Jim’s more mental powers had awakened and his wings emerged. They had found that leaving Jim entirely on his own when his mental self was ‘awake’ impossible. His niggling mental self would pull and call until one of them appeared at his side to keep him company. The unexpected innocence of Jim’s mental aspect was at times tiring, but Spock had also found it refreshing in its uncomplicated honesty.

Leonard had recently expressed a similar satisfaction, though he had qualified it under a, “Thank goodness its temporary or we’d be getting shot at more than normal when we make contact.”

That was one observation Spock had found himself agreeing with. Four days and three hours until Jim was released from his coma. Then his mental presence would change and reconnect to all that was Jim instead of a small, isolated aspect of him. The change would be intriguing.

But it also meant they were three days closer to their projected deadline and they had nothing to show for it.

“Leonard.”

The good doctor’s head rose, a sharpness to his gaze that had been present more frequently since Pinette’s judgment. “Did you manage to get through?”

“I did.” He inclined his head.

Leonard’s eyes narrowed as he leaned forward. “Then what’s wrong? You’ve got that pinchy bitchiness going on that means you’re pissed.”

Spock offered him a single-raised eyebrow in reproach for his assumption, before folding his hands in front of him. “Though your clearance was revoked, that is not the main issue. The information itself has been removed from the servers. We cannot access it remotely.”

A snarl tore its way from between Leonard’s bared teeth that was quickly followed by a stream of vitriol he had not even heard Jim use.  
He inclined his head and listened to the outraged mutterings of his companion. In this instance he found himself in perfect agreement with the content of his…friend’s outburst, but not the timing. Spock raised one hand, calling for silence. It was quickly granted him.

His own gaze grew sharp as he met and held the worried and harried stare of his companion. “I believe it is time we request the aid of others, specifically my Father and Jim’s friend the Ambassador. They can gain access to what we cannot.”

Leonard’s eyes widened, before a grin broke over his face chasing off the harsh physical components of his negative emotions. Spock listened as a soft snicker turned into loud laughter. Relief. It was a response that they shared equally.

He allowed the briefest of smiles to touch his own lips. Between the skills of Scotty and Lieutenant Uhura they would be able to send the necessary transmission in secret. They would get the data they needed. They would guard their Captain.

***

Spock looked up from the PADD he was reading. His shift on the bridge would begin in eight hours. He would have just enough time to get through his current set of documents before he must retire in order to gain enough rest to remain at an acceptable level of efficiency.

His elder counterpart had recently sent him the requested files he and their Father had managed to access through the use of their own clearance levels. Currently it was higher than his own when it came to the Historical Archives and Spock had found himself grateful for the offer. His counterpart had labeled the files according to possible value. This was the second most likely data set of archived files of old world documents. Despite the need to hurry, this buried aspect of Earth’s history had proven interesting and informative. He had passed some of the documents on to his father as there were some old, archaic laws that would prove useful in garnering aid for the new colony.

He finished the current document, a treaty on the export of tea from China, and clicked on the file of the next. The number identifications meant little to him as this particular archival situation had long since been replaced by the current system. The title of the document residing on his screen was another matter entirely. It read, _The Tel Varyn Treaty of 2010_. Straightening his posture, he scrolled to the opening page of the text and read onward:

We the Peoples of the World at large do hereby acknowledge the ties between us and our winged kin Homo Sapiens Volatilis, the Tel Varyn, whose history extends beyond our own and whose culture from which we have greatly benefited. We come here with these tenants, which shall stand so long as one of our winged kindred remains. We would see them granted the same rights to protection and defense as […]

Thirty-five minutes he had read through the file in its entirety. In summation it made Jim a sovereign nation unto himself. He established a search program to look for any possible amendments or changes that had occurred in the centuries since it’s signing while he read back over the document. Setting aside the PADD, he rose and fixed himself a cup of tea. His accomplishment was worth the indulgence. The search program had not turned up any immediate files. Before they confronted the Admiralty with the document and its contents he would perform a more in-depth search. Spock tipped his head to the side as he waited for his tea. It might behoove him to involve his Elder counterpart in this search as well as apprise him of the situation so he might provide a physical presence during the meeting.

Collecting his cup he strode back over to the PADD and pulled up the last few pages of the file. These pages with their black dashes and blank spots would free Jim from Pinette’s demands. It was a comparison of the Tel Varyn genome with that of a traditional human’s/ There were some similarities, but it was the differences that had caught Spock’s attention. Differences that could only be present on a winged Tel Varyn. He had seen this pattern before when Leonard ran Jim’s blood through an imprinting system. Out of curiosity, he pulled up the DNA sequencing files of others who had been placed in the same 10% margin as Jim. They also shared the genetic markers of one of the Tel Varyn. Their wings had simply never grown in and there had been no need to suspect they were more than they appeared to be

Allowing a slight smirk to pass over his face for a moment, he called his fellow conspirator. “Leonard. I believe I have found a document that will prove useful to your efforts of proving Jim’s ancestry and genetic heritage.”

***

Spock nodded to Lieutenant Uhura and then waited.

The screen scrambled for a moment before settling into a clear feed. The Admiralty appeared annoyed for the most part, though amusement lingered in Admiral Pike’s gaze and the tilt of his lips.

His Elder counterpart acknowledged him with the traditional sign of welcome before turning and doing so to Leonard as well. Then he turned his attention to the last of their group and the look of calm confidence transformed itself to one of delight and fascination. His joy echoed over the comm. Line as he greeted the Captain. “You are looking exceedingly well, my old friend.”

Jim shrugged, his golden-velvet wings flexing as he did so and revealing the pin feathers that had started coming in over the past few days. The light of the bridge gave the soft down a shimmering effect. “Considering who’s been looking after me, I don’t think I can take all that much credit for it.” His gaze shifted from Bones to Spock before he turned his attention forward.

Before he could speak, Admiral Pinette stood up, fury lining her face and filling her voice. It made her even less pleasant to look at than usual as she turned her ire on Leonard. “You! You were supposed to remove those abominations.”

Jim and Spock stepped forward, effectively flanking their friend and companion. Jim stayed beside Bones, while letting Spock step to the front.

“My colleague has prepared a report for you that will relieve both of us from the burden of committing an act of treason against the tenants of Sol III.”

Ambassador Spock nodded and an aid hurriedly passed around the prepared report that Commander Spock had sent him through private communiqué. Stepping into the center of the room, he began the process of walking the court Admiral Pinette had convened through the legalities of James T. Kirk’s situation.

Admiral Nogura looked up from the report in front of him and met the Ambassador’s calm gaze with one of his own steely-eyed looks. He was the first to look away. “You have outside proof of the genetic testing done by a third party?”

Jim and Spock felt Bones stiffen between them at the implied slight to his professionalism, but he let it go without comment.

Ambassador Spock did not. “Despite my complete faith in the integrity and honor of the Enterprise’s Chief Medical Officer I did prepare a report by a third party due to my lack of faith in those outside his purview.” A second aid passed around the new set of papers with the genetic report that was identical to the first.

Pinette moved to speak again only to find herself silenced by sharp look from Admiral Nogura. The council descended into a quiet debate. Jim prodded Bones in the side, quirking a smile. His smugness lasted until Spock turned the eyebrow on both of them. Jim sighed silently, his wings twitching as the growing feathers started itching again.

The council broke apart and Admiral Pike and Admiral Archer stepped forward.

Pike looked him up and down with a smirk, before making a turn motion. Rolling his eyes, Jim humored his friend and mentor and turned so they could get the full view of his wings.

“Well, kid, you always have to be the special one, don't you?”

Continuing to turn until he was facing them, Jim flashed the smile he had become known for years ago. “Well, sir, I was born that way. It just didn’t seem right to let it go to waste.”

Both Admirals cracked a smile at that, before Archer took over. “Well, Kirk, looks like you’re the first Tel Varyn in the ‘fleet. Do me a favor and don’t cause a political incident during your first flight.”

Offering a salute and a grin, Jim answered. “I’ll do my best, sir.”

“Good. Then get back to work and fix that goddamn communication issue.” Archer barked out before having the feed cut off.

Grin in place, Jim turned away from the now blank screen and eyed his companions. “Well, that wasn’t too bad. So what’s next?”

Snagging his elbow, Bones dragged him towards the turbo life. “Lunch. A healthy lunch. You have weight to gain and wings to grow.”

"But, Bones, I just got out of the infirmary! I'm supposed to be able to pig out a bit. You know, enjoy my freedom from your tyranny?"

Leonard snorted. "Freedom, my ass. The hobgoblin and I didn't spend the past couple a weeks keeping you alive to have you kill yourself with poor eating habits. Suck it up."

Spock followed along behind them, a slight smile touching the edge of his lips. “Mr Sulu, you have the Conn.”

The End….for now.

 

 

Deleted Scene/Blooper:

This particular scene was one I looked forward to writing throughout the whole story. I had a ton of fun doing it. There’s just one problem. Earlier events made it superfluous and unnecessary for the story to occur, but I’m rather attached to the gory little scene so here it is anyway as an Author’s Writing Blooper. The scene itself isn’t all that funny, but the fact I wrote and then had to cut it is. J

++++++++++Removed due to existence of John Grimm's diaries++++++++++++

Stepping into the sanitation room, he pulled on the set of scrubs hanging on the wall and ran his hands through a smaller sanitation device before donning the thin medical gloves and watching as his body heat activated the material's shrinking capabilities. If there was one thing this century was good at, it was creating fail-safes in minor equipment. The inner door opened and let him into the secure room. Jim lay face down, his back clear of the bandages from earlier. The bite of the antiseptic solution swabbed over the pale skin caused McCoy to wrinkle his nose and bite back a sneeze. Once he'd adjusted to it, he stepped forward and joined his people at the table.

The remaining stitches had already been removed and Chapel had readied his tools. Exploration first. A scalpel wasn't necessary yet. He let his hand drift over the supply of scopes. Too big. Too short. Too rigid. The Calamari designed scope should do it. It was thin and flexible. Taking up the scope, he laid one hand on Jim's bare back as he guided the camera past the torn tissue and into the wound. Using the view-screen he guided the camera closer to the initial site of the distortion. There. It was here he could see the damage the poison had done before the antidote finished flushing it from Jim's system. The tissue was inflamed and looked eaten. He'd administer another dose of the antidote as soon as this was finished.

A twist and turn as he moved forward and he could see it. The truth of the shadow he had observed on Jim's x-rays for the last few years. A delicate web of blood vessels formed an encasement. As he watched something within shifted and pressed against the interior of the sack. The movement was small, barely more noticeable than a muscle twitch except in one area of the sack. The Parstan's poison had reached here too and it had eroded the delicate tissue that held the structure inside immobile, breaching the encasement and weakening it. It shifted again and this time he saw the tip of something push through the opening and press against the breach, widening it farther and causing the internal bleeding the tricorder had picked up on earlier. Looking at it, the southern boy from another time found himself reminded of a chick hatching from an egg. It shifted again and the opaque tip pushed back through, opening the tear incrementally wider and spilling a viscous fluid along the outside of the sack. Following it as it retreated, McCoy inserted the camera into the opening. He expected cartilage, a bony mockery of a limb. Instead he found translucent flesh covered in fluffy threads thin as silk that swayed in the viscous fluid cushioning the developing limb. Curiosity tinged with wonder urging him on, he eased the camera past the curves of the limb to the base.

As he moved deeper, he took note of the thicker blood vessels lining the inner wall. These connected to the limb at its base where the movement had the least effect. It was a feeding system. Here mere centimeters below Jim's dermal layer was an entire system for secondary limb development. The camera jerked, bumping into the base of the limbs primary joint. And then Chapel called for him, directing his attention to Jim's back and the blood welling from the wound. On screen, blood bled into the sack, staining the clear internal liquid a pale pink.

McCoy grimaced, slowly easing the camera out. Across from him, Chapel tried to contain the blood welling up and spilling over the torn edges of Jim's skin. Dammit. He hadn't kept a close enough eye the time and he'd stayed too damn long. The latest movement spasm had pressed against the camera wire and caused more tearing than normal to the membrane.

 

"Sealant," he barked holding out his free hand, while the other kept the camera steady above the new tear. Curling his fingers around the slim contraption pressed into his hand, he maneuvered the edge down and into the wound. Reaching the area where the camera rested, he depressed the release valve. A thin liquid streamed from the nozzle and turned into a thick, clotting gel as it came into contact with the fluid. He smiled grimly, watching as the bleeding slowed and stopped in time for the next movement. By all rights and manufacturing claims, the internal sealant should have held. It should have remained in place. It didn't. The edge of the top of the limb raked across it and tore it apart. He just barely managed to make out a sharpened protrusion lining the curved edge of the joint before blood filled his vision. He snarled, calling for suction. The last flow had obscured the camera and he couldn't see a damn thing.

Slowly the majority of the blood was cleared away. The camera's picture was still somewhat obscured, but it was manageable. McCoy primed the sealant and then stopped. The rush of blood his mistake had caused was already stalled. The viscous fluid he had assumed served as a cushion for the developing limb gleamed from where it line the torn edges of the sack. It had sealed off the bleeding completely. In fact it seemed to almost be aiding in the creation of a lip. Encasement, cushion that doubled as security against bleed outs, possible acquisition of nourishment, and a cutting edge for breaching, hatching. Whatever the hell it is. And the down decorating what had to be a premature wing. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, his words echoing harshly in the stunned silence around him. Bodies after all, at least humans', didn't come equipped with anti-coagulants that efficient.

++++++++++Removed due to existence of John Grimm's diaries++++++++++++

 

 


End file.
